


things kept hidden

by emavee



Series: dc, let bruce be a good dad you cowards [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson Is A Metahuman, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Robin, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, but like in more of a literal sense??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25202353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: “Better hope the Batman doesn’t catch wind of you. Batman hates metas. He’ll make you disappear. That’s what he does.”“But I’d never hurt anyone,” Dick stammers. He doesn’t know very much about Batman, but he’s a hero, right? He fought crime, like Superman, and Superman was a hero. Right?
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: dc, let bruce be a good dad you cowards [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825744
Comments: 24
Kudos: 679





	1. Chapter 1

The lights have always been there.

His mother had them too, but she always said that his had been there from the start, from before he could do little more than coo and gurgle and babble. Hers hadn’t appeared until she was a teenager running away to join the circus, but from the moment Dick was born, their world got so much brighter. Literally.

There was no judgement in the circus. They just fit in even better with all the brightness and the life that followed Haly’s wherever they travelled. They were magic in the air and a slightly different kind of magic on the ground. Everyone knew, it was just a part of them.

He used to create pictures with the light, make Dad guess, like a game of Pictionary. If he had a nightmare, Mom would sing him gently to sleep, her own light scaring the monsters away.  Dad would call them both the “lights of his life,” which no one else found quite so hilarious as John Grayson did. (Dick got his mom’s powers but his dad’s sense of humor…)

Mom called him her little robin sometimes, but other times he was their little lightning bug.

(People still call him Robin, but no one will ever call him a lightning bug again.

It… it’s for the best. Gotham has never been kind to the Graysons, but at least Dick is still alive.)

* * *

Dick Grayson is eight-years-old and his whole world has just been ripped out from under him, depositing him on the cold hard floor of Gotham’s Juvenile Detention Center. They took his clothes, his bloodstained leotard, replaced them with a too-big jumpsuit and too-small shoes. They took the trashbag that he’d been allowed to try and stuff full of things from his trailer. It was in storage apparently, but Dick wouldn’t be shocked if he never saw it again.

Every piece of his parents gone. Locked away behind bars, just like him.

Practically everyone else here is at least seven years older than him. They seem like giants, but not the same way that Antoni the strongman had seemed like a giant. They’re not big like his parents were either, warm and solid. They’re harsh and unyielding, towering over Dick and he feels like a pinball trying to navigate the crowded hallways.

His  ~~ cellmate ~~ roommate is fourteen. They probably thought they were helping Dick out, putting him with one of the other younger boys, but he’s still six whole years older than Dick, and more than a foot taller.

He doesn’t like Dick much at all, but then again, none of the boys do. They hate how shrimpy he is, how whiney he’s being. They don’t like his accent or when he cries in the middle of the night, nightmares shaking him awake. They don’t like when he’s quiet and they don’t like when he stands up for himself. He feels so utterly helpless, and it makes him want to scream until his throat is hoarse. But even if he does, who would come for him? Who would hear him other than the waiting glares and fists and horrid insults?

Dick jolts awake before his dream-body can hit the ground. He’s shaking, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead and making the bedsheets sticky and uncomfortable. In the oppressive silence, he can only hear his own ragged breathing and in the pitch-black darkness, that might just be the only thing that exists anymore.

The need to see his parents, to feel his dad ruffle his hair and his mom kiss his temple, is even more crushingly overwhelming than the darkness. The woman who dared to call herself his social worker had taken away every reminder of them though, everything he has left.

Everything except…

Dick lifts his hand, palm up, and wills the light to life. It floats above him, drifting idly through the air. With a scrunch of his nose and a flick of his wrist, the light breaks up into several smaller sparks. They dance around in the dark air. Just like his mom always used to do. A constellation of stars, just for them.

He lifts his hand to brush his fingers against the lights. They’re warm, like always, unchanged even after everything. The tears on his cheeks feel ice cold.

“You’re a real freak!”

He extinguishes the light in an instant, heart suddenly pounding almost painfully hard. In the moments before darkness swallowed the room again, he could see the pale face of his roommate, looking straight at him.

“No,” Dick stammers. “I… I…”

“Don’t even try it. I know what I saw. You’re one of those meta freaks.”

Dick flinches back. The words dig like knives, feel like they’re shredding his skin, leaving him more vulnerable than ever. He’s never been  _ ashamed _ of his powers before. 

“I’m not a freak,” he spits back, more than a little proud of how little his voice shakes. His hands, though, are quaking.

The other boy scoffs. “You sure fucking are. Us normal humans can’t do shit like that. You were already a little freak, but this just put you over the edge.” He laughs suddenly. “And I was wondering why you were here, fresh meat. They must’ve sensed you were a freak and locked you up. Where you belong.”

He  _ does not _ belong here. He’s never done anything wrong, never hurt anyone. He shouldn’t be here! “I—”

“Better hope the Batman doesn’t catch wind of you. Batman hates metas. He’ll make you disappear. That’s what he does.”

“But I’d never hurt anyone,” Dick stammers. He doesn’t know very much about Batman, but he’s a hero, right? He fights crime, like Superman, and Superman is a hero. Right?

His roommate laughs, cold and empty. It echoes off the cinderblock walls. “Who cares? You’re a freak, and Batman hates freaks. You’ll see. I won’t even have to turn you in or nothing. One day Batman’s gonna find you, and that’ll be it. I give you three months, tops. Good luck, meta freak. Wouldn’t wanna be ya.” He chuckles to himself some more, the sound of rustling sheets tells Dick that he’s settling back into bed while Dick remains frozen in place. “Nighty night, Dickie,” he sings quietly. “Don’t let the bat-bugs bite!”

* * *

Bruce is awkward, and he seems a little lost, but he’s trying his best, and Dick isn’t all alone anymore—for that he’ll probably be thankful for the rest of his life.

Bruce always listens when he wants to talk about his parents and understands when he doesn’t. He didn’t quite get it the first time Dick woke up from the nightmares and wanted to sleep in his bed like he’d always done with his parents, but he’s gotten pretty good at the whole comforting thing since then. Alfred has hinted that Bruce hasn’t exactly done a lot of hugging in his life, but he doesn’t hesitate anymore to wrap Dick up or carry him around.

Bruce doesn’t know his secret, but as long as he keeps it that way, Bruce is safe. He’s finally safe again.

* * *

Dick didn’t know Bruce was Batman when he came to life with him. He didn’t know Bruce was Batman when the man was letting him sob into his shoulder or hold his hand when they crossed the street (and then some, because Bruce claims that he doesn’t want Dick to get lost in Gotham). He didn’t know Bruce was Batman when he unpacked his stuff and slid down the bannister and let himself into the kitchen to get a midnight snack. He didn’t know Bruce was Batman when he started to feel practically at home with him.

He didn’t know it was Bruce under the suit when he quite literally ran into Batman on the Gotham rooftops, in his desperate chase after the man who murdered his family. The vigilante had terrified him to his core, but he’d knelt down in front of Dick and dropped most of the growl from his voice. 

“Richard Grayson,” Batman says, “you should be in bed.”

“No,” Dick shakes his head and clenches his fists to keep them from trembling. “My parents were murdered. I need to find the guy that killed them. No one else will do it.”

“I know, Dick.” He tries so hard not to flinch when Batman’s hand squeezes his shoulder gently. “But you should let me handle it. It’s dangerous out here, and your guardian would be worried out of his mind to know that you’re running around out here all alone.”

He wants to bolt. All he wants to do is get the hell away from Batman; his heart is pounding in his ears. But the only thing scarier than Batman is the idea that his family’s murderer will keep getting away with it.

“Let me help you then. You are going after him, right? The guy who killed them?”

“Dick…”

“How do you know my name?” Oh God, he’s already on Batman’s radar. He takes several stumbling steps back, flinching when Batman reaches for him.

_ He knows. He knows. He’s here to make Dick disappear. _

Batman sighs. “Dickie…”

That sounds… That sounds like… 

“Bruce?” he whispers. 

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Bruce takes him  home back to the Manor in his scary, fancy, ridiculously fast car and Alfred grips his shoulders tight.

“Master Dick, that was incredibly foolish.” Alfred's voice wobbles just slightly, barely enough for Dick to pick up on it. But it’s there. He was scared. Dick scared him. “You had us both terribly worried.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick says. Nothing makes sense. Bruce is Batman, but Batman is supposed to be terrifying, supposed to be dangerous. Batman isn’t supposed to tuck him in at night before he goes out to punch bad guys or read him stories or do everything in his power to make him laugh when he’s sad.

Batman isn’t supposed to be Bruce. Dick thought he was finally safe.

* * *

Bruce is Batman, and now Dick is privy to the various layers of disguises that Bruce uses to conceal his identity. He can also see how Bruce likes to feed the rumors about Batman to make him seem even tougher and scarier. Like the rumor that Batman makes metas disappear.

That’s all the kid from juvie had to go off of. He didn’t know the real Batman, not like Dick does.

Bruce won’t kill him, won’t actually hurt him. And Batman won’t just make him disappear, he’s pretty sure. (Probably. Dick was right before—Batman  _ is _ a hero. He wants to make Gotham better. Plus, he doesn’t kill, so he probably doesn’t make kids vanish either. Robin’s not as skilled as the World’s Greatest Detective or anything, but he’s not a dummy. He’d  _ know _ if Bruce was making kids disappear.) But will Bruce still want him around if he finds out? If he knew he’d accidentally brought a freak like Dick into his life?

Probably not. And Dick can’t handle being alone again.

* * *

Dick likes the Manor okay, but he misses the Grayson family trailer. His parents were always right there, and everything felt (and was) lived in. Comfortable. Happy and warm. 

The Manor is more manageable during the day. Alfred claims that he’s using it as a playground, but how is he not supposed to take advantage of the one good thing about living in such a massive space? The hallways were made to be cartwheeled down, the fancy chandelier for swinging. During the day, he can almost make Wayne Manor feel like he’s back at the circus. Almost.

At night it’s a different story.

Bruce’s room is just two doors down, but at night it feels like miles between them. How could anyone live like this every single day? It’s too big. It’s too  _ dark. _

Dick’s fingers itch to make light. The dark is swallowing him, but the solution is  _ right there. _

But Dick is a coward. What if Bruce catches him? The mere thought of Bruce finding out is enough to send him spiraling. The itching is growing stronger, the need to escape the crushing dark  _ burns,  _ spreading up his arms and licking across his chest. Every desperate breath of air he sucks in has absolutely no effect.

Bruce is there, suddenly, strong arms holding him close, rubbing circles on his back and urging him to slow his breathing.

“It’s so dark,” he mumbles between sobs, not even sure how Bruce can understand him through his blubbering.

Bruce turns on his bedside lamp and sits with him until he falls asleep. 

* * *

He has a nightlight now. Alfred takes him to pick one out, and it’s cool to get to choose his own. He gets one that’s shaped like a little purple elephant.

He’s never had a nightlight before. He’s never needed one.

It’s weird.

* * *

Robin’s mask has night vision capabilities, which is really coming in handy for him right about now. He can’t find a light switch, but honestly it wasn’t really his priority when he crept down into the dark, dank basement. His priority is the three hurt, malnourished, very terrified kids that are chained to a pipe.

“Hey,” Robin says gently, being sure to approach the kids slowly. “Hi. I’m Robin. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? You’re safe now.”

The oldest one can’t be more than a couple years younger than Robin himself, but he’s a hero. It’s his job to help them and protect them.

“Here,” he says, approaching low and slow. They cower back away from him, but there’s a spark of recognition in the oldest one’s eyes. Robin’s starting to get a bit more name recognition on the street. “I’m gonna get these cuffs off of you, okay? I’m just going to unlock the cuffs.”

He pulls out his lockpick and gets to work. The kids seem to settle down a bit once he actually starts working, once they realize he’s actually there to help. Still, the moment their wrists are free, each of them scoot back away from him, tugging their knees to their chests and pressing against each other’s sides.

He can still hear the sounds of fighting upstairs. Batman sent him ahead to get the victims while he took care of the kidnappers. 

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “Batman is gonna take care of the people who hurt you. And I’ll stay with you the entire time. You’re safe now.”

One of the kids whimpers, still clearly terrified. Robin is starting to worry; he just wants them to feel safe. He knows fear and confusion so intimately, and he took on this job to make sure that no kids ever felt like that again. 

They’re scared, locked in the dark, with a voice they don’t know who’s promising them safety with no evidence to back it up. 

And he swore he’d do everything he can to help people. It’s what his parents would want. 

“Here.” Robin quickly shuts off his night vision and lifts his hand. The air suddenly lights up, twinkling like stars. The kids lean forward, reaching out hesitantly to try and touch the lights. “I don’t like the dark much either,” Robin says softly. The kids barely seem to hear him, completely entranced by the lights.

One of the kids latches onto his leg, and the others slowly follow, all of them clinging to him as they watch the lights dance in patterns above their heads.

Robin listens close, making sure that the fight upstairs is still going on. The moment it’s done, Batman will come down and join them and the lights will have to be gone before then. His heart is pounding, but it slows a little when one of the kids actually smiles when one of the lights bumps his nose.

He thinks his mom would be pretty proud of him right now.

* * *

People have started calling Robin the light to Batman’s darkness. Dick is terrified that one day they’ll realize just how true that statement is.

* * *

“…and don’t even get me started on Allen. At least he’s stopped leaving skidmarks on everything, but the budget for food has gone through the roof.”

Dick loves dinners when Bruce is home. His guardian is a busy man, and although he does his best to spend at least some time with Dick every day (outside of mask and cowl), they don’t always get to eat dinner together. It’s so much better when they do. When Bruce is absent, it’s just Dick alone at the giant table. If he looks sad enough, he can get Alfred to actually sit with him, but he has to look pretty pathetic to get that to happen. Most people wouldn’t actually call Bruce anything resembling “chatty,” but they can usually banter easily. It’s warm, and Dick loves it.

Usually.

Tonight, Bruce’s chosen topic of conversation is the Justice League. Specifically, ranting about how terrible they are to work with. A whole team of metas.

“And Jordan! He blew up the bathroom trying to use his stupid ring to make a stupid magical plunger.”

“Stupid,” Dick echoes, numb. His throat feels tight, so he chugs the rest of his water.

Bruce’s eyes narrow as he stabs ruthlessly at the last of his chicken. “Clark. His stupid heat vision blew up a warehouse and then he flew through  _ seven _ walls, so now I have to deal with all that. All because he didn’t listen to my intel. Big dumb idiots with their big dumb superpowers who all think they’re the star of this whold big dumb operation. I’m telling you, Dickie, they’re all so much more trouble than they’re worth.”

“Uh huh.” Dick plasters on his very best fake smile, but he feels pale. Is he pale? Can Bruce tell he’s gone pale? “That’s what you get for making a team of, uh, all metas!”

“Very true. If only they were all like you, kiddo.” Bruce makes a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh as he rises from the table. Before he leaves though, he stoops to press a kiss to the crown of Dick’s head.

* * *

“Hi, Mom.” Dick settles in, criss-cross applesauce at her grave. “Happy birthday.”

Bruce took him to go pick out flowers for her. Dick wishes he knew what kind of flowers she’d like best before she died. Bruce knows what his mom liked, but Dick doesn’t have a single clue. He used to pick her dandelions and clover sometimes, but those he’s since learned aren’t real flowers, no matter how happily his mom had accepted them. He winds up picking out the brightest, most colorful bouquet they had because it reminded him of her the most. 

It didn’t quite do her justice. Nothing was really as pretty and bright as his mom. Nothing in the whole wide world.

“I hope you and Dad are having a nice celebration.” They always had dinner—that much he does remember—and then they would dance to all of Mom’s favorite songs. The lights were always there. Mom used to say that she was just so happy that she couldn’t stop herself. She just loved them too much.

Dick has felt that way a few times, that fleeting sense of so much overwhelming happiness that he feels like he’s glowing, all the love and happiness too much for him to hold in one body. It always passes though, now that the fear of being discovered helps him swallow some of the happiness away.

Mom never did that. She never hid. Even when she was in public and she couldn’t let the light actually free, she just had that sort of personality. She could literally glow and no one would notice a thing was different. 

You can’t stay that bright for very long in Gotham. 

“I miss you a lot. Like so, so much, Mama. Sometimes I feel really alone without you.” He sniffs. “But today is your day, right? So just, I hope you’re having a good time. And I love and miss you. A lot. Like a lot a lot. Remember when Dad and I tried to make that cake? But something was wrong with the icing and the whole thing just fell over as soon as you blew out the candles? It still tasted good, though. Just didn’t look very pretty. I hope you have the best cake in the whole world today. You deserve it.”

He sits with his parents until the sun begins to set, unable to tear himself away. It just feels so wrong to leave them there and go back to dinner in the Manor at a table that feels too big and too empty. With Bruce who isn’t replacing his parents but who sort of kind of is. 

He wants to make the lights, his very last connection to his mom. He just wants to feel close to her, especially today.

But he’s scared. He’s a coward. Bruce will be here any minute to pick him up and what if he catches Dick? What if he sees the lights and then everything’s over. He’ll be all alone again and he can’t handle that again. It’s a betrayal to his mom, putting his need to stay with Bruce over his connection to her, but he’s just too weak.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” he says one last time as Bruce appears in the corner of his vision.

He turns away and leaves with Bruce.

* * *

There has to be something wrong with him. Mom was never like this.

She was light and joy and brightness and warmth. She was exciting and engaging, catching the eyes of spectators as she soared through the air, her costume seeming to sparkle just a little bit more than Dad’s or Uncle Richard and Aunt Karla’s. 

She was never,  _ ever _ anything even remotely resembling  _ violence. _

Not like Dick.

The light itches under his skin, growing stronger and stronger until it starts to burn him from the inside. He tries to let it out in small bursts, locked in his bathroom where he’s sure no one will catch him. It doesn’t work for long, and it’s certainly not a long-term solution.

He’s wandering the grounds of Wayne Manor, through some private trails that wind through the trees beyond the carefully manicured gardens. His head is buzzing, and Alfred—clearly having noticed something was up, although thankfully seemed completely non-suspicious of the real origins of Dick’s annoyance—had suggested he get some fresh air to try and clear it.

The sun is shining and squirrels are chirping and the birds won’t. Stop. Singing. It’s grating on his last nerve, leaving him feeling like a bomb about to explode.

(Maybe that’s what he is. He’s not ignorant of the fact that he’s got anger in his chest that scares him sometimes. Maybe he’s just a ticking time bomb, and one day he’s going to lose control. Batman would be so ashamed if he knew.)

One of the birds hits a particularly high note and Dick tips his head back to scream (at the bird, at the sky, at  _ something _ ).

What comes out though isn’t a scream, but a burst of pure energy, hot and blinding and so strong that it shakes the trees. It’s white hot and for a moment he’s terrified that the world is dying around him, that when his vision clears there will be nothing left but charred woods and emptiness.

The light fades away, leaving him cold and shaking. His legs won’t support him anymore so he sinks to the forest floor. The cool, damp earth is dry now, sparing him from mud stains on his knees but not from the reality of what he’s just done. He feels raw and frayed and exposed, he feels like something is missing, an energy in him has been all but drained away. It’ll probably come back though, and then he’ll just explode all over again. 

Over and over and over again, until someone figures him out. Hopefully before he accidentally hurts someone he loves.

(He’s still too much of a coward to distance himself, not like Bruce and Alfred deserve. His two biggest fears are at war: Is he going to go back to being alone first, or will that honor go to hurting the people he cares about?)

_ The birds aren’t singing anymore, _ he realizes dully as the ringing fades from his ears. He’s scared them off.

Dick can barely feel the tears sliding down his cheeks, concentrating only on the dry dirt clenched tightly in his palms and lodging itself under his fingernails. They splash on the ground between his hands.

The ache of missing his mom is suddenly so powerful that it feels like a white hot knife flaying him alive. If she were here, she could make it all better. She would explain that he isn’t a monster, teach him how to control this. Maybe… maybe she went through the exact same thing he’s feeling right now. Maybe she was once this terrified and lonely and volatile. She would be able to take it all away, make everything better again.

“I want my mom,” he sobs to absolutely no one, because he’s probably scared away even the crickets and the worms. “Please, I… I just want my mom.”

He stays until the tears run dry and the shaking in his limbs tapers off. Methodically, robotically, he gets his legs back underneath him, rising to his feet and dusting his hands off on his pants.

Alfred will get suspicious if he stays out for too long.

* * *

Dick is infinitely glad as he watches Gotham burn that his parents always called him their little lightning bug, as opposed to their little firefly. If he’d had to hear his childhood nickname associated with a villain, it surely would have wrecked him.

Firefly scares him, although he’ll never let Batman see his fear. Unlike Dick’s own lights, Firefly’s fire and violence is uncontrollable and unyielding. The light and energy that lives in his chest is different from the raging flames, but not different enough. He hates seeing something that feels so familiar turned against him and Bruce and the city he can’t quite call home. 

The files on the Batcomputer say that the villain used to use his flames to aid in his robberies, but that seems to have been before Robin’s time. There’s no logic here, at least none that Dick can see.

Batman and Robin separated a while back, Batman chasing after Firefly himself while Robin worries about getting people to safety and trying to wrangle enough order for the fire department to be able to get in there and help.

“Come with me,” Robin says, guiding a frantic couple away from the raging flames. “Everyone! Follow me!”

There’s a refuge being set up near Gotham General, and Robin is trying his best to lead people there, but they lost visual on Firefly a while back and Dick would never forgive himself if he sent people fleeing straight into the literal line of fire. 

“B,” he says into his comm, coughing slightly as a wave of smoke hits him, “any updates?”

_ “Not yet. I believe he’s headed toward City Hall, but stay on the lookout anyway, Robin.” _

Dick nods, even though B can’t actually see him. He’s feeling a little dizzy, probably a mix of the smoke and the confusion. He needs to get his head on straight and get through tonight.

Suddenly in the distance, he hears Firefly scream-cackle, and it sends chills up Dick’s spine despite the blistering heat.  _ Shit. _ He’s supposed to be halfway across the city, not here with Robin and a bunch of terrified civilians. 

But it’s Robin’s job to save people, and Robin will never ever back down from a fight when there are people he could save. He creeps in the general direction of Firefly’s crows, rounding a corner to find a family cowering against a dumpster in an alley, trapped. It’s two parents and a little kid. She’s huddled between them, clearly terrified. 

“Batman,” Robin says into his comm, inching closer. “I’ve found him. Three miles west of the warehouse district. Holland Apartments.”

_ “I’ll be there as fast as I can, Robin. Don’t engage until I get there.” _

“Sorry, B.” Dick doesn’t know if his voice sounds so broken because of smoke inhalation or fear. “I can’t wait. There are civilians in danger.”

_ “No, Robin! That’s an order. Do not engage!” _

“Sorry,” he says again, voice so soft that it’ll be a miracle if Bruce manages to hear it.

Robin jumps into action, using his grapple to swing up onto a still-holding fire escape. He jumps, flipping and landing between Firefly and the family. His cape, which he’s so often complained about but never will again, becomes a shield against the spray of flame. He gasps against the heat, waving for the family to run and get out. They do, leaving Robin alone with Firefly. 

The villain has been setting off explosives all over town. At the beginning of the night, he’d had about twelve strapped to his chest. Now, he only has one left. One that he most likely intended to use to level the apartment building they’re standing across the street from. 

“Ooh, the bat’s brat,” Firefly says. "I can't wait to see how you look while you _burn._ "

Robin’s shtick is puns and banter with his enemies. He’s a distraction and an underestimation all rolled into one colorful costume. He’s also inhaled what feels like three blimps full of smoke and heat tonight. If he tries his usual on Firefly, he’s pretty sure not much will come out. Facing off strong and silent will have to do. The Batman way. 

Maybe the lack of banter upsets Firefly. Maybe not (some of Gotham’s rogues seem to enjoy it more than others; it usually varies due to level of craziness, with fluctuations based on theme, style, and pension for dramatic flair). Either way, Robin suddenly has Firefly’s full attention. 

Well, he got the explosive away from the apartment building, but this wasn’t really his intention. He’s really, really not a big fan of the idea of dying by fire. 

Firefly throws the final device. It lands between Robin’s feet. He backpedals, his body screaming with the  _ need  _ to run, to get away, but there’s nowhere to go; he’s surrounded by flames and collapsed walls.

If he doesn’t do something, he’s going to die here. 

The grenade explodes, all heat and energy. But Dick knows energy, he knows light. He pushes back against the explosion. His own light mingles with the explosion, blowing out and away.

He doesn’t go unscathed. Even with everything he’s got, he’s still surrounded by an explosion. He feels it wash over his skin, burning and tearing his clothes and singing his hair. Not to mention, expelling that much energy leaves him cold and shaky. His ears are ringing and the light has half-blinded him, obscuring everything else.

“…Answer me! Now!” There’s Batman, shouting for his lost sidekick. Dick flinches at the sound of his guardian’s voice, the voice that has always been a comfort to him, not something he’s meant to be afraid of. “Robin,” Batman says, finally catching sight of Dick in the rubble. 

Dick’s head shoots up, blinking rapidly to try and clear his vision just in time to see his mentor running toward him. When did he get so close? 

No, no, no. Dick isn’t ready for everything to be over yet. 

Except Batman doesn’t immediately start yelling or lecturing or just looking on in disappointment and disgust. Instead, Dick suddenly finds himself wrapped up in Batman’s arms. Dick can’t help the shocked noise that escapes him, along with several tears.

There’s weight on the top of his head—Batman’s face pressed into his hair, he realizes belatedly. His shocked, terrified silence breaks, words rushing out of him like a tidal wave, unable to stop even if he wanted to.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave me, B,  _ please _ .”

Batman jolts away, definitely putting it together now. Here it comes. The hammer is about to drop. A sob tears through his throat and he can’t meet Batman’s eyes. If he sees the loathing and disappointment, he’ll crumble on the spot.

“Robin,” Batman says, hands coming up to grip Dick’s shoulders. “Talk to me, son, please.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick breathes.“I had to. He would have killed me. I’m sorry.”

“Robin.” Batman cups his chin, guiding his eyes up, forcing him to look at the cowl. “Talk to me. What happened?”

“I—” Dick tries, honestly, to answer, but the words won't come out. He stares at the damage surrounding him, the destruction that he and Firefly created together. 

It dawns on him. Batman doesn’t understand yet. That’s why he hasn’t yelled. Dick has failed him so spectacularly that Batman can’t even fathom what Dick is. He’s  _ that _ much of a disappointment.

Dick can’t say it, but he knows Batman is expecting answers. He always is. Stepping back, Dick lifts his palms, letting the light free. It’s still restless from facing off with Firefly, but the glow is as bright as ever.

He has enough experience trying to figure out what Bruce is thinking behind the cowl to recognize when Batman realizes, but after that he becomes unreadable. A completely blank facade. He swallows back another sob.

“Robin,” Batman says. He sounds strained. “Let’s go.”

The ride back to the cave is silent. It’s agony, horrible weight pressing down on him from all sides. Even his breathing has turned slightly erratic as it chokes him. 

When they come to a stop at their destination, Dick can’t move. He sits frozen in the car until Batman finally has to pull him out, guiding him over to a cot and silently checking him over. He and Alfred have some sort of silent conversation and the butler disappears with a nod and a worried glance. Dick feels his sudden absence like a lost limb. 

He sits and waits for Bruce to come to his senses, for him to say something. He waits for Bruce to tell him that he can’t be Robin anymore. He waits for Bruce to tell him if he still has a home or not. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, barely able to muster up a whisper. He just can’t stand the oppressive silence or the not knowing any longer. And if there’s anything he can do to get Bruce to forgive him, to let him stay, then he’ll do it in a heartbeat. He has to try.

“You keep apologizing,” Bruce says, voice strained. Dick feels cold all over. “Why?”

“I should have told you that I’m a… a meta, B. I’m  _ sorry. _ ”

Bruce sighs heavily. “Why didn’t you?”

“I… I was scared, Bruce. I didn’t know what you would think. You took me in when… when I had no one, but you didn’t ask for a meta for a kid. You don’t want a… a burden. A freak.” He spits the word with the same vitriol that the boy from juvie had used against him. Four years later, he still remembers that conversation. It’s etched permanently into his memory,  _ freak _ echoing loudly in his head whenever he dares to even think about his lights. Something was desperately ruined for him that night, he has enough clarity to see that now. 

“I didn’t ask for any particular kind of kid, Dick.” Bruce sounds really angry now. This is it, he’s sure of it. “I don’t want any sort of a kid, except for you, exactly how you are. _However_ you are. I will _love_ you no matter who you are. You are never a burden, and you’re certainly not a freak. You are a meta, but that’s okay, Dickie, _I swear._ ”

_ Wait, what? _

“But… but Batman hates metas,” Dick practically sobs. “You hate them. You hate  _ me. _ ”

“No!” Bruce growls and Dick flinches violently. He notices, softening immediately as he takes both of Dick’s small hands in his. “No, Dickie. I could never hate you. Please don’t say that. I could never, ever hate you. You’re my son, and I love you.”

“ _ Why? _ ”

“Why? Why the hell wouldn’t I? You’re brilliant and brave and kind and wonderful. Is it really so hard to believe that I still care about you? Dick, who is my closest acquaintance?” 

“Alfred?”

“Wha—No, other than family, Dickie. Besides you or Alfred.”

Dick frowns. There’s an easy answer but it doesn’t feel right, doesn’t quite make sense here. A trail of logic he’s never allowed himself to follow. “Clark?”

Bruce nods. “Dick, Superman is the closest thing I have to a best friend. A meta. I wouldn’t do that, I wouldn’t work with the League at all if I truly hated metas. I certainly wouldn’t let Clark around you if I thought like that. I don’t care, Dickie. All I want is for you to feel safe and happy. That’s all I want. And today, those  _ amazing  _ powers of yours saved your life. I could never be mad about that.”

“Really?” He still can’t quite believe it. Bruce… Bruce doesn’t hate him for lying, for being a meta. He really doesn’t care. How can he not care? “But, what about your no metas in Gotham rule?”

“Dickie, let me ask you another question: do you often see Green Arrow running around here?”

“No…”

Bruce smiles. He still looks sad. Dick hates it, it makes him want to squirm. “It’s not the meta thing I have a problem with. That’s just a silly excuse to keep those idiots out of our city, okay? Our city, Robin. You are just as much her protector as I am, even with powers.”

“Oh.” Well now he just feels ridiculously foolish. Of course Bruce doesn’t hate metas, but Dick’s been so blinded by his own fear that he just spiraled and spiraled down into this pit. How stupid could he be? The tears return anew, spilling down his cheeks full force; he’s far too exhausted and frayed to try and stop them. 

“Oh, Dickie, no.” Bruce squeezes his hands tighter when Dick tries to pull away and scrub at his eyes. “Hey, hey. Don’t cry, please don’t cry. What’s wrong? Hey.” Bruce transfers his hold on Dick to one hand, the other coming up to cup his cheek, swiping the tears away with a gentle thumb. 

“I’m sorry,” Dick whimpers. “I should have known. You’re the best person I know, Bruce, I should have known you wouldn’t hate… hate me for something like that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I never wanted to, I swear, I was just confused. I thought—“

“Hey. Hush. Stop that. I’m not mad at you. For anything. I’m… sad that you didn’t think you could tell me, but not mad. Never mad. It’s my fault, for making you think that this love and this home could ever be conditional. It’s all on me.”

“No, Bruce. Don’t say that. You saved me.”

Bruce’s smile is sad. “And I would do it a thousand times over, no question. You don’t owe me a single thing, kiddo. Everything I’ve ever done for you, I’ve done  _ gladly.  _ You do not have to be any sort of perfect for me to care about you. There are no conditions, alright? None.”

“Okay,” he whispers. He still feels more shell shocked than anything at the moment, but Bruce is looking at him the way Mom and Dad always used to and something impossibly warm is blooming in his chest. 

Tentatively, Dick leans forward. Bruce catches on quick, not nearly so hesitant as he practically yanks Dick against his chest. He breathes in the smell of soot and kevlar and Bruce and it feels like home again. 

“Can you show me?” Bruce asks after a few minutes of silence in which Bruce rocked him gently and Dick somehow didn’t feel like he was being babied. 

“Huh?” Instead of pulling back, Dick nuzzles closer against Bruce’s shoulder. 

“Your powers, Dickie. Can I see?”

“Oh. Um, sure. If you want.”

He worms his way out of the hug, already missing it, and steps back to give himself some space. All it takes is a wave of his hand for the constellation of lights to appear in the air above them. Bruce stares. 

“Dick Grayson,” he breathes. The light reflects in his wide eyes. Dick stands a little bit taller. “You are a miracle.”

Dick flushes. “B, you’re friends with Superman.”

Bruce crosses the space between them in two large strides before squeezing his shoulders tightly, firm and solid and how could Dick ever have doubted him? “So you know I mean it.” He tugs Dick in for yet another hug and Dick is so startled that he lets out a yelp, letting go of his control over the lights in favor of wrapping his arms tight around Bruce’s middle. “It’s beautiful, Dick. Absolutely stunning. And it saved you. Saved your life and that is the most amazing thing in the world to me. I thought I lost you.” Bruce whispers the last part and he sounds so broken that it feels like a knife straight to Dick’s heart. 

“I’m sorry,” Dick murmurs. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt Bruce. 

Bruce shakes his head and squeezes tighter. “Just, thank god you’re okay.”

They stay like that for a while. Dick can hear Bruce’s racing heart start to level off as the shaking in his own limbs and weakness in his knees begins to dissipate. 

“I would have saved you too you know,” he finally says, face still smushed against Bruce’s chest. 

“What do you mean, Dickie?”

“If you were in danger, I would have done the exact same thing. I would have saved you, no matter what.” Even terrified of Bruce knowing his former secret, he never could have let Bruce die. He’s had enough parents die, lost too many people that he loves so fiercely. 

Bruce drops a kiss to the crown of his head. “You are so special, kiddo. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you..”

Now it’s Dick’s turn to shake his head. “Nah, B. You’re actually pretty good at this whole dad thing.”

He thinks maybe he’s overstepped when he hears Bruce’s breath hitch, but he doesn’t pull back, doesn’t push Dick away. He stays there, warm in his dad’s arms until Bruce can find his voice again. 

“Thank you, kiddo. I suppose it’s only fair that I tell you then that you’re the best son I could ever ask for. I’m still going to run no less than a million tests, though,” Bruce warns. 

Dick laughs. He’s crashing from all the  _ everything  _ of tonight so it feels a little on the hysteric side, but everything’s okay somehow. Bruce  _ knows  _ and everything is even better than okay. “Okay, B. Whatever you say. I’ve had the lights since before I could talk though.”

“I just need to be sure, Dickie. I’m sorry, but you know me.”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I do. And, um, I guess it is a pretty good idea actually. They’ve gotten a lot stronger, Bruce,” he whispers. “It kind of… it’s kinda scary sometimes.”

“That’s okay, bud.” It really sounds like Bruce means it. A massive weight is suddenly gone from his shoulders. “Really. There are whole teams of scientists that specialize in metahuman biology I can contact. Plus, I like to think that I’m pretty smart myself, don’t you think?”

Dick snorts. “I mean, you’ve got nothing on me, but you’re not half bad I suppose.”

“So true, kiddo.” Bruce sighs, brushing a gentle hand through the still-sweaty bangs stuck to Dick’s forehead. He leans slightly into the touch. “It’s been a long night, huh.” Dick nods. He’s crashing fast. “I’ll bet Alfred has some midnight snacks lying around somewhere. What do you say we go raid the pantry?”

“Best idea ever.”

“Tell you what, I’ll even show you where I keep my secret stash of Oreos.”

“Oops sorry. I raided those last week…”

“Stinker. That’s unforgivable. The whole superpowers thing? Totally fine, but eating my secret junk food supply, that crosses the line, mister.” 

Dick laughs. 

Bruce slings an arm around his shoulders, half supporting him as they walk. His head feels kind of floaty-tired but his limbs weigh a million pounds. Still, as tired as he is, he feels  _ good.  _ Happy. Free. Bruce knows. Bruce knows and he still loves him, still wants him around. 

For the first time in four years, he can breathe a little easier. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firefly is escaping and Bruce can’t bring himself to care. His son was in the epicenter of that explosion. No one could have survived that.

_ “Batman,” _ Robin’s voice crackles through the comms. His breathing is labored, Batman notes with a frown.  _ “I’ve found him. Three miles west of the warehouse district. Holland Apartments.” _

“I’ll be there as fast as I can, Robin,” he instructs, immediately changing course. It’ll take him several minutes too long to make it halfway across the city. “Don’t engage until I get there.” 

He absolutely doesn’t want Robin facing off against Firefly alone. The fires often get out of control in the blink of an eye, and Firefly’s weapons are violent and brutal. Robin can’t fight them alone. He’s good, has grown a lot in his years as Robin, but he’s still small and young, a child. His child.

_ “Sorry, B,” _ Robin says. Something in Batman’s chest clenches sharp and painful.  _ “I can’t wait. There are civilians in danger.” _

_ No, no, no, no, no. _ Something is  _ wrong _ here. “No, Robin,” he growls, much harsher than he intended. “That’s an order. Do not engage!”

_ “Sorry,” _ Dick whispers. It feels like he’s saying goodbye.

“No!” he howls, pushing his grappling even faster. 

He has to get to Dick. His kid is scared and alone and in danger. He needs Batman’s help. Batman needs to get to him.

He reaches the outskirts of Robin’s location just in time for it to explode.

Batman peels himself off of the asphalt with a groan. He’s bruised and battered, thrown back hard by the explosion, but none of that compares to the agonizing, icy cold that washes through his veins as realization sets in. Dick was in the middle of that explosion. 

The cold, logical side of his mind can only think about how Dick’s body has just been torn to shreds, that there’s most likely nothing left at all to hold or to bury. Bruce gags, suddenly loathing how much he knows about these things. What he would give to live in just a few more moments of denial… To have a son for just a little longer.

He can hear Firefly laughing somewhere beyond the ringing in his ears. In this moment, it’s quite possibly the worst sound he’s ever heard. Worse than the Joker’s cackle, worse than the echoes of gunshots. That’s the sound of a psychopath who just murdered his son and is  _ laughing about it.  _

Firefly is escaping and Bruce can’t bring himself to care. His son was in the epicenter of that explosion. No one could have survived that.

Dick was twelve, bright and brilliant and so, so full of life. He had  _ everything _ ahead of him.

At least he did, before Bruce got him killed. Because that’s what Bruce did: he handed a kid,  a little kid, _ Dick was so small, so young, _ a costume and some fancy gadgets and set him loose in the most dangerous city in America. 

_ Why had he done that?  _

~~ ( Because Dick had a  _ spark. _ Because he wanted to help people, to protect them, because he was  _ good, _ all the way down to his core. He had more courage and strength and fight in his heart than anyone else Bruce knows, and he knows everyone in the Justice League. Because Dick wanted to fight, wanted to be Robin, and he was goddamn  _ good at it _ _. _ ) ~~

Bruce stumbles through the still-flaming wreckage, not even noticing the pain from the heat or the smoke clenching his lungs. It’s not logical he knows, but there has to at least be a body.  _ Please.  _ He just wants to hold his son again. Just one last time. It’s more important than breathing.

“Robin,” he calls, voice weak and useless. It doesn’t matter if anyone can hear him. It’s not like Robin can answer. “Robin,  _ please.  _ Answer me! Now!” 

_ Useless useless useless.  _ He can’t stop himself. He can't just _not try._

Then he sees it and freezes. His whole body feels like it’s shut down and been rebooted.

Standing there, shaking and pale, in the middle of a circle of scorched dirt, is Dick.  _ Alive. _

_ “Robin,” _ Bruce breathes. He breaks free from his paralysis, stumbling forward with none of the balance and grace he’s honed so carefully over the years.

Dick’s head shoots up from where he’d been staring at his feet. His uniform is torn and dirty and his mask has been reduced to shreds, giving Bruce a clear view of the tears rolling down his cheeks, cutting tracks through the ash and grime. He should check on him, ask what happened, find out how he’s even alive (why is he crying what’s wrong Dick Dick Dick are you okay  _ please be okay  _ everything is okay because Dick is  _ alive _ ) but god, Bruce doesn’t  _ care. _ He’s selfish when it comes to Dick, and he knows it, but right now, hugging his son, hearing him breathe and feeling his heart beat strong and steady is eclipsing every other thought in his head.

He tugs Dick against his chest, ignoring Dick’s surprised yelp, pressing his face tightly to the singed hair at the top of his son’s head. Dick is shaking in his arms or maybe that’s Bruce—either way, they’re both crying. Bruce has never cried in the cowl before.

Bruce mumbles against his son’s head, over and over, trying to calm himself down enough to be able to help his clearly distressed kid. “You’re okay you’re alive you’re okay  _ you’re alive. _ ”

At the same time, Dick babbles, his own words frantic and broken. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  _ Please don’t leave me alone.  _ Please don’t leave me, B,  _ please. _ ”

Bruce jerks as the words register, finally allowing himself to pull away slightly. Dick sobs as he does, curling in on himself and flinching away from Bruce’s gaze.

“Robin,” he says, gripping Dick’s shoulders tight.  _ He can’t let go. Not yet.  _ “Talk to me, son, please.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick whispers again. It sounds so lost and lonely and broken, reminds him of Dick’s first months at the Manor. “I had to. He would have killed me. I’m sorry.”

“Robin.” He cups Dick’s chin, getting him to meet his eyes with only some resistance. “Talk to me. What happened?”

“I—” Dick tries to talk but all that comes out is a whimper. It breaks Bruce’s heart.

Dick’s eyes flick to the ground, and Bruce follows, finally registering the charred circle surrounding them. Everything outside of it has been blown back. Nothing about the scene makes any sense.

At least it doesn’t until Dick steps back and all the pieces fall into place.

Dick is glowing, bright hot light emanating from his raised palms.

His son has powers. His son is a meta. 

His son is, miraculously,  _ alive. _

* * *

The conversation is hard. Bruce is terrified of saying the wrong thing. And honestly it’s so hard to think about how long he’s been inadvertently hurting his kid. Dick has hidden a part of himself away—a part of himself that connected him to his parents—for so long. Bruce took that from him; he didn’t mean to, but he did.

Just when he was kind of starting to feel like he had a handle on the whole parenting thing. Now it’s like he’s back to the beginning, making mistakes left and right and just hoping so desperately that he doesn’t do or say something that will shatter Dick’s trust in him for good. 

So when Dick says,  _ “Nah, B. You’re actually pretty good at this whole dad thing,” _ part of his brain is so relieved that it shuts down, can only think about how glad he is that his son is safe, how much he loves him. 

How he’s going to get more oreos since apparently Dick wiped out his stash when he wasn’t looking.

“You’re really okay with all of this?” Dick asks. He fiddles with a sandwich that Alfred left for them, pinching off little bits of the crust and dropping them back on the plate in his lap. He’s sitting on the counter; Dick likes to be off the ground when he’s upset, and this is as close to the ceiling as Alfred will allow in his kitchen.

“Yes, kiddo. I told you, I don’t care. You’re still you.”

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” There’s nothing he can say to really make Dick trust him, not after four years in hiding. He can’t undo that mindset in one night. All he can do is keep making that promise, until the day Dick doesn’t doubt himself anymore.

“Thanks,” Dick mutters, ducking his head. It makes Dick so happy he  _ glows. _ It shouldn’t be that way. 

“There is nothing to thank me for, Dickie.” This kid needs to stop thanking him for doing the bare fucking minimum, for being ecstatic when Bruce does something as easy as not turning him out into the street. Bruce should do  _ better _ than that. 

He’s not stupid enough to think that he’ll ever be John and Mary Grayson, but he still wants to be  _ good. _ He wants to be a parent that’s worthy of a kid like Dick. 

It’s almost three in the morning by the time they polish off the sandwiches and hot chocolate Alfred made for them, as well as most of an entire family-sized bag of cheetos. Dick sits up on the counter, swinging his legs and smiling until he begins to list to the side, eyelids growing droopy. Without a word, Dick holds out his arms, vaguely reminiscent of the grabby hands that little kids make when they want to be held. 

Bruce carries Dick up to bed for the first time in practically two years. Dick has gotten so much taller since then. He was so tiny when he first came to live with them, all knobby knees and huge blue eyes. He’s a lot bigger now, but he’ll always be Bruce’s son. 

He’ll never be too big for Bruce to carry when he needs to be carried. Or tucked in when he needs familiar comfort. Or cared for when he needs to feel safe.

He casts a glance at the nightlight that's still plugged into Dick's wall. More and more things are slotting into place. Dick was never scared of the dark, he'd been lonely and sad and... and scared of Bruce.

His stomach churns.

“I love you so much, kiddo,” Bruce whispers against Dick’s hairline as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. He needs Dick to know, desperation returning full-force. “Don’t ever doubt that.” 

“Love you too,” Dick mumbles back. It should help Bruce breathe a little easier, but his chest is still painfully tight. He has to tear himself away from the sight of his son sleeping peacefully.

Alfred is waiting when he closes the door to Dick’s room behind him.

“It has been quite an evening,” Alfred says. He's always been able to see straight through Bruce. “For the both of you.”

“I hate thinking that he lived in… in  _ fear _ of  _ me, _ for so long. It makes me sick.”

“You had no way of knowing. It’s not your fault that boy convinced Master Dick to fear Batman. And he knows now that you would never turn him away.”

“I know. I just…” He hangs his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “God, Alfred, I thought I lost him.”

That's the real kicker. He knows there's nothing more he can do to convince Dick, and he knows that Dick is just so good and forgiving that he _will_ be able to bounce back from this. 

But now that there's no kid in front of him to soothe and reassure, reality is crashing back down on Bruce. Dick very nearly died tonight, for a brief moment, Bruce was so sure he had. He distracted himself with taking care of Dick but that job is done for the night. Now he has nothing else to concentrate on but how it felt to lose Dick.

“Oh, Master Bruce…”

“It couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes, but… but it was  _ awful. _ I thought I would never be happy again.”

“He is  _ safe, _ Master Bruce. He is right in there, sleeping soundly, with nothing more than bruises and a few minor burns that will heal in time. Your son is alive, and now you know him even better. He no longer has to hide this part of himself.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep much tonight,” Bruce admits. 

It doesn’t quite feel real, like if he goes to sleep, he’ll wake up and it will all be a dream, or some hallucination he concocted to try and deny his son’s death. Bruce Wayne doesn’t get a lot of luck, not when it comes to the people he loves. He can’t possibly be so lucky that his son has these magical powers, much less the exact magical powers that he needed to save him from an explosion at the last minute.

“Master Bruce.” Alfred’s hands come to rest on his arms, squeezing gently. “Listen to me. He is fine. That boy is a wonderful miracle—”

Bruce chuckles. “I said the same thing.”

“And he has always been a miracle, since before you knew of these abilities. He will be just fine.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I cannot truly, but I know you would do anything to protect him. You have trained him well. And now he has yet another tool in his belt to help keep himself safe. There is nothing more you can do now, but care for him, and show him that he is cared for.”

Bruce breathes out heavily and nods. “I can do that.”

Alfred smiles. “I know you can.”

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for a second chapter from Bruce's perspective bc I'm such a sucker for when one character mistakenly thinks the other is dead >:)


End file.
